Overwatch Shorts
by origaminightowl
Summary: A series of shorts based around the lore and characters of Overwatch. Mostly lighthearted smut and occasionally darker subjects.
1. Chpt 1 - Baking

_So, I've been addicted to Overwatch for the past several months, and with all the colourful characters that are available, I thought hey, why not make some short stories. I apologise in advance for any incorrect language that isn't English as I'm not really fluent in anything else (if you spot a glaring mistake, please let me know). If you have an idea for a prompt to write, also let me know, though please be aware that I'll only use it if I like the suggestion and feel comfortable with it. For the first chapter I thought that I would go for something light hearted: Zarya's baking skills. Thank you for taking to time to read, enjoy!_

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Zarya was furious, her brow knitted in bemusement as she stared at the black pan within her hand over the cooking hob. She ran her fingers through the gelled pink spikes of hair in an attempt to calm her increasing annoyance.

"бесполезный..." She said, harshly waving the cooking utensil side to side as if it would help her current situation.

The smell of burning wafted through the modern kitchen, the marble work surfaces mired by a mixture of flour and milk that had somehow made its way from a mixing bowl, across to the hob and then back onto the varnished surfaces to decorate the space in some form of contemporary art. A box of a dozen eggs sat next to the domed ceramic, it's position titled towards the tall woman as if to say _'Look! Look at what you've done!'_. Most of them had been broken open or cracked in some form, their contents oozing outwards across the container lifelessly, making the whole scenario a rather sorry sight for anyone who might be walking into the room as of now.

The pink haired Russian conceded that she couldn't cook to save her life, or rather couldn't bake at any rate. Her gaze looked upwards to see a pancake unceremoniously plastered to the ceiling from one of her earlier attempts, waiting for the perfect moment to limply fall on the woman's hair when she wasn't looking. Zarya sighed, turning the stove off and placing the pan on the side. The sound of footsteps caught her attention as she turned around.

Mei walked into the kitchen in her pyjamas, cleaning her glasses with a silk cloth as she squinted in attempt to see where she was going.

"Good morn- _oh_." She peered in awe at the apparent tornado that had breached the room, placing her eyewear on with a surprised look. She looked to Zarya, then to a pitiful looking flour bag that seemed to have met its demise to a kitchen knife; it's sides slashed and innards scattered about the surfaces. She gazed back to the pink haired woman who incidentally also had flour all over her face. "Ummm...Is everything alright?"

"No." Zarya said simply. She exhaled and relaxed her frame, leaning against the hob with her arms crossed as she closed her eyes in bemusement.

Mei peered past the tall woman to the stove, seeing the contents of the pan. She smiled faintly. "Were...were you trying to make pancakes?"

"Crepes actually...and trying is the correct word." She pointed to the ceiling, highlighting her situation by the sorrowful baked good clinging to the surface for its life. "I wanted to surprise you, however my culinary skills appear to have gotten the better of me."

The smaller woman laughed lightly, walking over to gently embrace Zarya against the hob. She placed her cheek against the Russian's chest, hearing the now increasing pulse of the tall woman's heart. Mei looked up to her after a moment with a warm smile. "You don't have to impress me with your cooking skills Aleksandra, it's the thought that counts. I would have eaten it anyway even if it was burnt." She peered up to the pancake on the ceiling. "Saying that...I am glad that you stopped when you did, I'm not sure the new decor is a fit..."

"Sorry." Zarya apologised. She gave Mei a lopsided smile as she unfolded her arms and embraced her back, resting a hand upon the brown locks of Mei's hair. "Perhaps I can go to the store to buy some pre-made crepes, would that be better?"

"That would be lovely." Mei conceded. She laughed as she suddenly saw the pancake above drop downwards and cling across Zarya's face and spiked hair.

The Russian athlete was not impressed.


	2. Chpt 2 - Waking Nightmare

_Just a general thought, exploring the idea of the potential of Tracer joining Talon. Set before her slipstream incident. Might expand upon it in later chapters._

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 _Dark red, warmth. Digits coated in hot blood, rolling a forefinger and thumb together as the substance stained downward upon a delicate hand in some form of morbid art. Cold pupils studied the liquid, a cruel smile spreading across lips in amusement. Death...It felt good, it felt good to kill and as the lifeless corpse of her target fell from her grip, Lena finally understood, finally knew that this was right. The power of life and death within her grasp, it completed her. Her life beforehand had been a shallow existence, one indebted to weakness. Now she was stronger, faster. Yet she needed more, the thrill was fading away into nothingness, leaving her hollow once more. The former pilot wished to awaken what was missing within her now; excitement, pleasure, the thrill of the kill. And she would kill again, bathe in a sea of blood. She would do anything to feel...alive._

Lena Oxton jolted upright in her bunk, heart pounding and pores perspiring. She was shaking, the remnants of her dream...no, nightmare, clinging to her consciousness as she raised a hand to her brow, sighing and relaxing her body's alert muscles. The pilot wiped away the sweat from her face with a forearm, closing her hazel eyes while she tried to think of something to take her mind off what she had witnessed.

"The hec was that..." She muttered into the darkness of her shared room within the barracks, turning her head to see the time. Two in the morning...Great. Like she would be able to get some decent rest after whatever that was...The pilot let her gaze wonder, seeing her bunk mate sleeping soundly on the opposite bed, rhythmic breathing indicating the woman was in the depths of deep sleep. Lena wouldn't be cruel enough to wake her up. Instead she lay back down, stretching her tense muscles under the covers with something of a groan and stared up at the ceiling, her mind still racing. It was just a dream, people have nightmares all the time, well not all the time, but they do happen. Then why did it feel so real? She scoffed, rolling over to her side and closed her eyes, ridding the mental images. Instead she busied her thoughts with simple routines of her day to day life as an RAF pilot, going over the planning cycles and checks needed before take off. It was almost second nature to her, a rhythm that had been deeply ingrained within her consciousness. It soothed in a unusual way, the familiarity welcomed as her eyes finally grew heavy, her breath deepening and slowing as her mind allowed itself to fall into blissful slumber, the surroundings of the barracks dimming into darkness.


	3. Chpt 3 - Sake

_Hanzo takes McCree out to try sushi, the cowboy enjoys a bit too much Sake..._

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"Waz'iz?" The slurred words escaped McCree's mouth, a frown upon his thick brows. "Fishes?" With something of a hiccup, he unceremoniously slumped his frame against the wooden surface of the restaurant's bar, sinking his face into the soft material of his poncho with a snort. "Like shootin' fiz ina barrul..." He smirked, before raising his head to peer at the fresh sashimi stabbed with one end of his chop sticks on a plate.

Hanzo sighed while sitting next to the inebriated cowboy as he delicately ate and drank. He had come to the conclusion that it might have been mistake to have let the man try Sake; it seemed a life of drinking American alcohol was hardly suitable preparation for the effects of rice wine. What was the point of them going to a nice sushi bar if McCree was too drunk to appreciate something from his culture, or rather, the closest thing possible to it while stationed in London. The poor man, while fascinated by the small ornate cups the liquid had been poured in, had gulped it down as if it was some cheap shot of spirit and then proclaimed it had no effect. And continued to do so for another four entire carafes in quick succession. Well, the cowboy was certainly feeling its effects now, that's for sure.

Hanzo's eyes glanced over to him, a slight smile creeping across his features as he saw McCree desperately attempt to eat the sashimi with both chop sticks in his drunken haze, the morsel limply dropping to the plate before he could place it in his mouth. The cool and collected cowboy was a complete mess, becoming increasingly flustered and annoyed as his food refused to cooperate with the eating utensil that, to be frank, he wasn't entirely using correctly. He had to give him credit for trying however. McCree had a subtle pink hue spreading across his cheeks from the alcohol flooding his bloodstream, which amused the archer to no end. Hanzo couldn't stay annoyed at the man's fumbling, and he wa- something touched his tattooed arm.

Having seemingly given up on his food, McCree had turned his attention to his Japanese friend sitting to the right of him, squinting his eyes as he studied the decorative art encompassing the majority of Hanzo's left arm with a prod of his finger.

"Hanzo...Why you hav fish on your arm?" McCree queried in confused interest as he inspected it.

The archer gently batted the man's finger away from him. "My friend, it is a dragon, not a fish." He said curtly.

The Cowboy squinted his eyes even further. "Oooh, I see! But whyz is has whiskers? And why is it flyin' in a storm on you arm?"

Hanzo indulged the man's somewhat silly questions. "This is an Asian dragon, quite different in its depiction to what you probably know as the European dragon. The tale is that he flies within the storm because the sky wept in sorrow and anger when he lost his bother; the lightning engulfed the earth and the rain fell from the heavens to remind the dragon of what he did. You see-"

"Shhhz shhh shz! All this spek of rain...Think I might be needin to hit the John..." McCree interrupted, suddenly standing while clumsily grabbing his hat and placing it on his head. "Tell me of this mighty dragon when I return!" He smoothed his poncho sluggishly with both hands before turning to make his way to the bathroom, leaving Hanzo with a bemused expression on his face.

The man hadn't taken more then three steps before he ended up on the ground, the whole scenario hilarious to McCree as he giggled like a school girl. Hanzo peered around the restaurant - who's patrons were watching the whole situation - absolutely mortified. He apologetically looked to one of the many waiters of the establishment, placing his cup of Sake on the bar.

"Could we have the bill please..."


	4. Chpt 4 - Skiing

Sorry for not updating!

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The air was coloured with the dissipating fall of snow, each unique crystal settling upon the ground amidst the newly deposited slurry. It was cold, as was natural in the heart of the Swiss Alps in winter. The steep cliff face of the Matterhorn shone quietly in the background of the striking vista, the sun now peeking through the clouds, colouring the mountain village of Zermatt in soft hues of yellow and gold.

Angela stood, her arms folded neatly against her chest as she faced the sun on the slope in her ski gear and sunglasses, letting it's warm tendrils caress her face with her eyes closed. There was something soothing about feeling the sting of the cold and the warmth of the sun at the same time. To be honest she was glad to be back in Switzerland after so much time. She hadn't been here since, well, since the incident at HQ.

A soft thud ceased her reminiscing, turning away from the sky. Her gaze settled upon Fareeha who had fallen to the ground in a heap a few paces away from her, her modern winter attire covered in a layer of powdered snow and one of her skis missing. The woman lifted her blue goggles from her face with a grunt.

"How was that?" Pharah asked, her cheeks lightly red from exertion.

"Fareeha...we are on a green slope.. How did you loose one of your skis?" Mercy peered off into the distance, looking for the missing item before kneeling down to gently help the Egyptian up from the snowy ground. Angela had agreed to instruct Pharah after the group had taken a vacation from duty. Realising that the woman had no idea how to ski, they had settled for solo lessons while the others had free reign to do whatever they wished. Angela had to admit she was learning quickly, even if she was terrified to go any higher than a blue run.

The soldier looked behind her as she dusted the ice crystals from her body, giving Mercy a curt nod in thanks and seeing the lost sports gear as it lay helplessly in the snow a few meters away from the pair. "It must have came off when I fell over. I tried to do the 'snowplough' stop, but something caught on my ski's and well...here I am." What Pharah had actually attempted to do was surprise the Swiss doctor while her attention was elsewhere, though that plan had evaporated the moment she tried to halt her momentum.

Angela smiled lightly. "Here you are... You took longer than I anticipated...so I may have decided to catch up on some sunbathing. I should have watched you, I apologise, I'm a terrible instructor."

The Egyptian chuckled, looking at the vista. "Do not worry, I would have likely done the same myself. I know I'm terrible at skiing...and I have to admit the view is pretty spectacular."

Mercy turned away too. "You're not a terrible skier Fareeha, it's not like you've actually done the sport before now. You're making good progress."

"...Thanks."

The two remained silent as they inspected the contrast of the snow and sun upon the village.

"You know, I think Switzerland is starting to grow on me..."


End file.
